


Honey, I Want To Break You.

by Anonymous



Category: Chronicle (2012)
Genre: Amorality, Dirty Thoughts, Gen, Hypersexuality, Implied/Referenced Incest, Masturbation, POV First Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9262175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Matt Garetty wouldn't call this lust, but if he really loved Andrew Detmer, would he really think this way about him? Experts shrug.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Meg Myer's 'Desire'

At fourteen, you were so clumsy. You had a bandaid on the bridge of your nose, hiding the aftermath of riding your bike too fast down a hill. It was so unusual. The sound of you sobbing my name, blood running like tears down your lips, your ruffled hair - I was mesmerized. I wanted to lean forward and press my calloused fingers into the wound. Your hands had enclosed over your mouth and nose, then you were standing and running through the cold winter air to find your mother. We were teenagers, both ingrained with a sense of unreciprocated want. You did not notice my infatuation. I was glad.

I spent my time watching you. I plucked your baggy clothes off in my head, enthralled with the thought of your lithe form writhing beneath me. I suppose I wanted you too badly. I glorified you. I made your cherry tinged cheeks into something far less innocent. I claimed your huffs of frustration and put them on repeat in my head. I fell back into my bed, sliding my hands into my blue jeans. Your name was not something I’d call out loud, but I’d test it casually, normally, like I hadn’t fallen in love. 

You were shorter then, composed of baby fat and milky skin. Your hair was longer, falling into your blue eyes in hues of blondes and browns. You were sitting on the edge of my bed, red lollipop in hand with a wet, pink tongue swirling over the rounded head. I couldn’t take my eyes away from your lips, they were shiny with spit and red from food dye. Images of you kneeling in front of me came to mind and I shivered before shoving them down, just like I wanted to do to you. 

\--

At fifteen, we were stuck together. We camped by the lake, forced in the same tent due to a lack of space. It was warm outside, even at night when cool breezes whirled through. Fireworks reflected off the surface of the lake, and I noticed you were more interested in the colors wavering in the water rather than the bright ones that bursted in real time above us both. I found I was more interested in the curve of your jawline than the vivid display of summer beauty. You looked like Heaven. 

The more I stared at you, the closer I felt to hell. I felt like a predator, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest. When you and I crawled into the humid, closed space of the tent and you shedded your swim trunks for sweatpants, I swallowed the arousal. Everything was so big on you, so in the night, when you shifted and the thin fabric of your shirt rode up, exposing sharp hipbones, I wondered why you wore anything at all. I was enthralled with the thought. I was sick. 

Occasionally, you’d mumble into the crook of your elbow. They were soft, croaking moans given by your nightmares. I tried to ignore the shame I felt when I rolled onto my stomach and rutted against my own hand. I held my breath, eyes fixed on your slack face as pleasure came to me in waves. You were so beautiful in your sleep. When I came, I couldn’t help but shudder violently, unable to look away from your pink lips. You sniffled in your sleep and turned over. I knew I was fucked then. 

\--

At sixteen, I met a girl with satin hair and blue eyes. They were darker than yours. It was something I noticed immediately, just before I realized I compared everyone to you. I was looking for a carbon copy of your body, of your voice and skin. I wanted desperately to get my hands on someone that wouldn’t break. And you, fuck, you’d break. I’d disrupt the glass ceiling that you stood beneath. But this girl, with her curious gaze, filled the space I wish you occupied. 

She squirmed beneath me, beautiful and angelic in the sullen desktop lighting, but I focused on the feeling. The quick and frantic thrusts into velveteen heat. She was not herself in that moment. She was you. I closed my eyes, erased her presence, and ignored the sound of her moans. I pictured yours. I thought of all the times you’ve groaned in annoyance.

I thought of the whimpers elicited by paper cuts. And most importantly, I thought of the way you said my name. The slow, frustrated call of my name leaving your lips. I shoved forward, pushing myself as deep as possible, and came, trembling, disgusted with myself. 

When I opened my eyes, she was looking up at me in something close to shock. She was completely frozen.

‘’Are you okay?’’ I asked. 

‘’Who is Andrew?’’ 

\--

At seventeen, you met a boy who treated you better than I ever could. He brought the life out of you. I had never seen you so animated, it was like you had been on low energy mode for years and had only recently found yourself fully charged. He made you laugh loudly. He drew you from the prison of your mind. Jealousy tasted so violent, but I smiled at him anyway. He was good for you. And when he found himself in the position I had craved for years, I let it happen. I went home. You weren’t mine. 

I ached for you. You. You. 

But you are not mine to touch. My guilty conscience will think of everything but you. I will kiss women in the backs of cars, I will find myself drunk and sickened trying to distract myself from the vanilla of your skin. I will not compare you to honey. I will not tarnish the beauty of your soul. But I will never forget how badly I wanted you. I will never look at you the same and you will never know. It is for the best. Because you are not mine. Mine. Mine. You are not mine. I was glad. I am glad.


End file.
